Storm's Heart

THIRTEEN

After several moments, his tight clench eased, and he carefully shifted his weight off of her. She collapsed forward, shaking. He rubbed her back. “I took you at your word, faerie,” he said, breathing hard. “Now you tell me you’re all right.”

All right? All right was an ice cream cone on a warm afternoon, a press conference in which nothing disastrous happened, or hell, just a day that passed without her uncle succeeding in killing her. She was far too complicated for just all right. She was deliriously happy, outrageously scared and completely immobilized.

“I’m fine,” she said into the cushion. “But all my muscles have turned to Jell-O. I could use some help.”

He kissed her shoulder. “Of course. Just a sec.”

She could hear a pleased smile in his voice, and it sounded very male, which in turn made her smile.

He cleaned her with a cloth, his touch light and gentle. “That better not be your shirt, you lunatic, because thanks to you I’ve got nothing else to wear,” she murmured. She yawned. So many things seemed impossible. Walking. Getting from here to, well, anywhere. Making a decision. Facing other people.

She grimaced at that thought. Ew, actually.

He told her, “I’m using the inside of your dress.”

“Okay.” When he finished, she managed to push off the couch. She wasn’t kidding about having muscles made of Jell-O. Everything trembled.

He handed her his shirt. She turned the wadded material over in her hands, as her exhausted mind tried to deal with locating the neck and armholes. By the time she had it figured out and had pulled the shirt over her head, Tiago already had his pants zipped and was buckling his belt. The indirect light shining from the hall limned the wide arc of his back and shoulders, and one high cheekbone and lean cheek. He armed himself again with the two guns and the knife in its thigh sheath. He looked completely comfortable with the arm holsters strapped across his bare chest. He rotated his shoulders to settle them into place.

She took a deep breath at the sight of him, even as she swayed. He angled his head at her and lifted an eyebrow in inquiry.

“I can’t, oh God, I can’t,” she told him. “But I want to.”

A white smile slashed across his features and lit up his face. He looked energized, alert. He strode over to her, tilted up her chin and gave her a quick kiss. “You look gorgeous and edible, and I want to too,” he said.

She snorted as she looked down at herself. “I look like a train wreck.”

He ran a finger down the side of her neck as he surveyed her. Her silken black hair was tangled, and he had kissed all the makeup off her face. Her bare lips looked bitten, swollen and blushed with dusky color, and her eyes were smudged with exhaustion even as they held a wry smile. His black T-shirt came down to her narrow knees and gaped at her neck and arms. Her fingers and toes were painted pink. She looked like a woman who had been thoroughly made love to, and his groin tightened as he thought of all of the places he had not yet explored on her delectable body.

“You’re my train wreck,” he told her. “And you’re more beautiful than ever.”

She glowed up at him. Then she looked toward the hall. Her glow faded, replaced with tension and shadows. She sighed. He could see her visibly picking up the burden of her journey. It was a self-contained, lonely expression. She had accepted him, but she hadn’t yet assimilated his presence. He knew that would take time.

She bent to pick up her shoes and started for the doorway.

He put a hand on her arm. “What are you doing?”

She blinked at him, puzzled. “We’re leaving, right?”

He nodded his head toward her shoes and raised his eyebrows.

She looked at them too. Oh no. Her thigh muscles were much too overused for her to feel like she could balance on anything higher than the ground and even that was in question. “I can’t.”

“You’re not walking around barefoot. Not in a bar and certainly not in the parking lot. There’s bound to be broken glass around.” Taking care to keep the material of the T-shirt pinned against the back of her legs, he picked her up in his arms.

“Whatever.” She made a point to sound irritable, even as she nestled close, rested her head on his shoulder and let her aching body go lax.

He paused. “Faerie.”

She opened her eyes and discovered him frowning down at her. “What?”

“We walk out of here a partnership. Don’t let anyone try to persuade you otherwise. I am not letting you go.”

She gave him a hesitant nod.

He looked severe, like he wanted to say more. Instead he gave her a swift hard kiss. Then he strode out with her in his arms.

Just as she had suspected, the only people in the bar were Aryal and Rune. They had evacuated everybody else, including Duncan and Cameron. The place looked abandoned and had a forlorn air. Half-empty glasses, and bowls of peanuts and popcorn still littered the tables. Aryal stood behind the bar, a bottle of tequila in front of her along with a shot glass that she spun in circles. Rune stood throwing darts in quick sharp movements at a board across the room. As they appeared, Aryal reached behind her and switched the music off, and silence crashed down over them all.

Niniane met Aryal’s gaze. The harpy looked grim. Was that censure in her face? Niniane shrank back against Tiago’s chest and went a little numb. She couldn’t recall ever seeing Aryal look at her that way before. Was what they had done so awful?

Tiago took her to a barstool near Aryal and eased her onto it. He kissed her temple. Stay right here.

She set her shoes on the bar and swiveled to face him. His expression gave no clue about what he was thinking. She asked, Why?

I have something I need to do.

Then Tiago pivoted on one heel and launched at Rune, who had just thrown his last dart and was in the process of turning around. Tiago tackled the other sentinel. They slammed into a table, close to five hundred pounds of solid Wyr muscle, and the table collapsed. Rune heaved, trying to dislodge Tiago, but Tiago was heavier and had him pinned in a headlock. Tiago’s teeth were bared, his face feral with rage.

Oh shit. Niniane made a sound and rocked forward. Aryal grabbed her by the shoulder and held her in place. She struggled to shift the hold that pinned her, but the harpy’s long-fingered hand felt like steel. “Let me go!” she said.

“Don’t be stupid,” Aryal said. The harpy’s voice was as hard as her hand. “You know better.”

She did, actually. Getting between two fighting Wyr was suicidal unless you were much bigger and stronger than they were. Dragos was the only one she knew who could survive tearing two fighting sentinels apart. She subsided as she stared at the males who struggled in silence. Aryal let go of her and took a long pull from the tequila bottle.

Tiago might never have managed to get Rune pinned if he had telegraphed his intention. He tightened his arm around Rune’s neck and forced the First’s body to arch backward in a painful bow.

You and I have been friends for longer than most modern nations have existed, he whispered in the First’s head. Which is why I’m not going to snap your neck right now. But if you ever try to come between me and Niniane again, I WILL END YOU.

Rune sucked air as he struggled to ease the pressure on his windpipe. Goddammit, T-bird, he said. I love that faerie as much as any of us, but I couldn’t watch and do nothing while she becomes your Titanic.

You crossed a line, Tiago hissed. I choose her, I want her, and I am taking her.

I was trying to save your fucking life! Rune tried to wedge his fingers underneath Tiago’s forearm.

You were trying to control me, Tiago growled. It’s your choice. We can either come out of this as friends or we can come out as enemies, but you will not try to control me again. Understand?

Rune grunted, Yes.

Tiago let him go and sprang backward as Rune flipped to his feet with a snarl, his golden lion’s eyes flashing, and whirled to face Tiago.

One of these days, Tiago said. You’re going to find your mate. And maybe she’ll be Wyr but maybe she won’t. Then you will understand just what you almost did to me.

With a visible effort, Rune throttled back his aggressive instincts. When both males took a deep breath and straightened, a palpable sense of danger eased from the room. Niniane felt as if she had just run a marathon. She wiped her cheeks and turned back to the bar. She reached for Aryal’s tequila bottle.

Aryal shoved the bottle toward her without looking at her.

That stung. It stung badly.

Niniane took a few sips of tequila, and the fiery liquor flamed her throat. She said to the harpy, “What, you can’t look at me now?”

“I’m too angry to look at you right now,” said Aryal. She held her hand out for the bottle.

Niniane shoved it at her. Bitterness scalded her, along with a touch of fear. Rune and Aryal were supposed to be two of her and Tiago’s closest friends. How much worse would the rest of the world react?

She said in a quiet voice, “After everything we’ve been through and all the time we’ve spent together, I would have thought I had earned better.”

“I didn’t say it was fair,” said Aryal. “I just said I was angry.” The harpy tilted the bottle up to her mouth and took several swallows.

“Okay,” Niniane said. She put her hands to her face and rubbed, then dug her fingers into her scalp, trying to massage some life back into her tired brain. “Why?”

Aryal slammed the bottle onto the bar and glared at it. “I’m angry you chose the Dark Fae and you didn’t choose us. You didn’t have to tell God and everybody else who you were. Chances are your real identity would have died with Urien, because he sure as hell hadn’t spread the news around. You could have stayed in New York. You were happy with us.”

“We discussed this before I ever left,” Niniane said. She was so weary she could barely sit upright on the stool. “You know why I did it.”

“Yeah, but I don’t have to like it, do I?” Aryal said. “And you’re not Wyr, and I hate it when one of us mates with someone who isn’t Wyr. Let alone Tiago, good God. He’s more Wyr than most of us. So you’re not only leaving us, you’re taking one of our strongest with you. I hate it and there’s nothing I can do about it, and you know how I hate when there’s nothing I can do about something. That’s why I’m angry.”

Niniane felt slapped. “So it’s okay to like me as long as you don’t like me too much? I had no idea you were so bigoted.”

“Goddamn it,” the harpy said. “That’s not what I meant.” Aryal’s stormy gaze met hers. The harpy said in her head, What happens in twenty or thirty years if you decide you and Tiago aren’t working out? You’ll be able to walk away, but he will never let go of you.

That’s just it, Niniane said. That is bigotry.

Aryal made an angry chopping gesture with one hand. I’ve seen what can happen. You have too!

I’m not talking about what can happen to someone else in some other situation, Niniane said. I’m talking about me. The bottom line is, you don’t trust me to love him or look after him. You said it yourself. It’s because I’m not Wyr. I would never be good enough or right enough for him, would I?

Aryal glared at the tequila bottle and said nothing.

Niniane’s eyes glittered. When Tiago’s arm came around her shoulders, she turned and put her arms around his waist, resting her cheek against his warm bare skin. She couldn’t bear to look at either Aryal or Rune at the moment.

She knew her old life had ended and was coming to terms with that, but she never thought her old friendships might end as well.

Maybe she was selfish to take what he offered. Her life wasn’t going to be any picnic. Maybe she should have tried harder to push him away. He had said he would go if she could tell him she didn’t want him and she could make him believe it. She hadn’t been strong enough.

She said to Aryal, I need him more than you do.

Niniane’s cheek felt wet. Tiago put a protective hand to her head and shielded her face from the other two. He bent to press his lips to her forehead. Whatever she and Aryal had said to each other had obviously been painful. He wanted to slam his fist into the harpy’s face.

He held on to the impulse by the skin of his teeth. He could just hear how that conversation would go. She would say, Tiago, you can’t fight all my battles for me. But he honestly didn’t know why the hell not.

He picked Niniane up and cradled her close. She held her shoes against her stomach and put her face in his neck. He turned to the door and paused. Without looking at either sentinel, he said, “Don’t come with us if you can’t accept us.”

He waited a moment to see if Niniane would contradict him. She slipped her arm around his neck and remained silent. He squeezed her tight and strode out.

Predawn was lightening the sky in the east. It revealed a sodden, bedraggled neighborhood that had been buffeted by the storm that had blown through in the night. Fast-food wrappers and plastic drinks containers were strewn across the parking lot. From the outside with the lights turned off, Big Red’s bar looked tired.

He heard the sounds of boot heels on gravel and turned. Rune and Aryal had stepped out of the building. They looked tired too but resolute. They walked toward him and Niniane. The gryphon’s tawny head topped Aryal’s tangled black hair by a couple of inches. Both sentinels moved their long, lean bodies with fluid athleticism. They scanned the surrounding scene with sharp eyes. They came to a stop, one on each side of him. Aryal reached out and touched Niniane’s hand. After a hesitation, Niniane clasped the harpy’s hand.

Rune had been right earlier. Wyr were not good at forgiveness, and they never forgot.

They were also hellishly bad at letting go.

Niniane’s exhaustion swallowed her whole. A formless fog filled her mind. She was vaguely aware that Tiago climbed into the back of a vehicle while still holding her. Rune said something to him, to which he replied, and then Rune shut the door. Other car doors opened and shut. Moments later Aryal started the vehicle, and she drove them through quiet gray-lit Chicago streets.

Then Niniane must have fallen asleep, or fallen into a state very like it. She dreamed of movement and quiet noises, but she only came awake when Tiago leaned over to lay her on a bed. She cracked open bleary eyes and looked around. They were in her penthouse room, back in the hotel from hell. She pushed into a sitting position, her exhaustion-smudged face filled with alarm.

His hatchet-hewn features softened as he bent over her. He said, “It’s all right. You’re fine, it’s safe.”

Had it been a long, vivid, incredibly beautiful dream? She blinked, looking around. She wore a voluminous black T-shirt. Tiago was armed and bare-chested, and dressed in black fatigue pants.

She was sore in the most private places of her body. She relaxed marginally. It had happened. It hadn’t been a dream.

“Are you going somewhere?” she mumbled.

“No,” he said. He kissed the sleepy soft pout of her mouth. “I’m just stepping into another room for a few minutes. I need to call New York and talk to Dragos.”

“All right.” Her eyelids felt like they weighed about ninety pounds each. They fell shut and she couldn’t pry them open again. Her head listed to the side. “I’ll wait here.”

He laughed, a soft exhalation of air. “I’m going to leave the door open, so I can keep an eye on you. I still haven’t calmed down from when the Djinn took you. Lie down, faerie. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

He put a hand on her shoulder and urged her down. She resisted for all of thirty seconds. Then she lay down and turned onto her side to hug a pillow as he tucked the bedcovers around her. She felt the brush of his fingers through her hair. He turned off the bedside lamp and walked into the bathroom. After a moment she heard him speaking in a quiet voice.

That was the last thing she remembered before she ran through a shadowed palace soaked in her brothers’ blood.

Tiago positioned himself in the bathroom so that he could see the top of Niniane’s black tousled head. He leaned against the bathroom counter and hit speed dial #1 on the iPhone he had stolen from Rune. He didn’t need to double-check the number. All the sentinels had Dragos as #1 on their cell phones.

“What now?” Dragos said as he answered the phone.

Tiago rotated his shoulders, working to loosen the muscles that had tightened after the fight with Rune. He told the dragon, “I quit.”

Silence on the other end of the connection.

“Niniane is my mate,” Tiago said.

He waited and listened to more silence.

He snapped, “You can’t tell me Rune didn’t find a way to get in touch with you in the last couple of hours.”

“I’m waiting to hear from you whether you’re still an ally or not,” said Dragos.

“Don’t be stupid,” Tiago said. “Of course we are.”

“All right. Keep her safe and stay in touch.” The phone clicked.

Tiago shook his head and laughed silently to himself. When all was said and done, Dragos was the most efficient predator of them all. And, after all, what else was there to say?

He splashed off at the bathroom sink, found and unwrapped a new toothbrush and brushed his teeth. He went to the side of the bed where he undressed and set his weapons within easy reach on the bedside table. He exulted in the exotic intimacy of joining her in bed as he slid nude between the covers.

That was when he discovered she had curled in a tight ball. He pushed up on one forearm to stare down at her. She was clammy, her breathing choppy, and she had both hands clamped over her mouth.

“Faerie,” he said in a sharp voice. His Power mantled in the room, seeking an enemy. He couldn’t sense any other Power or influence nearby. He gripped her shoulder. She made a strangled noise and exploded into a hellcat. She kicked and punched at him, her movements wild and uncontrolled. He threw one heavy thigh over her thrashing legs, and he gripped her wrists as gently as he could and pinned them on the pillows on either side of her head. “Wake up, Niniane.”

She hurtled into awareness, her heart slamming in her chest. For a nightmarish moment she couldn’t remember where she was or recognize the dark silhouette of the male pinning her down. A terrified, despairing noise broke out of her as she tried to buck off his weight. He shifted immediately, easing off of her but not letting go of her wrists. Then he said her name again, and it snapped her reality back into place.

She stopped struggling and said in a ragged voice, “I’m awake. Sorry.”

Tiago leaned on one elbow beside her and braced a hand on her ribs. He sounded as ragged as she did. “Fuck sorry. Just tell me what happened.”

How strange that he was here, warm and naked, one hip pressed insistently against hers. Greedy for the feel of his skin, she burrowed into his side and rubbed her toes along his calf. The crisp hairs on his leg tickled her bare foot. “I was having a nightmare about the night when Urien and his men killed my family. I used to have it all the time. Then it mostly went away. Now it’s come back again.”

He growled deep in his chest, the menacing sound vibrating against her cheek. He sounded frustrated. “I want to kill that son of a bitch all over again. And again and again.”

“It was just a dream,” she whispered.

“No, it isn’t, faerie. It’s a terrible memory of a crime committed against you and people you loved.”

“Yes.” The word came out on the barest thread of sound.

He propped a pillow against the headboard, settled back against it and pulled her into his arms. She settled against him with her head on his shoulder, one slender leg hitched over his hips, an arm draped over his chest. He radiated heat and strength, the forcefulness of his presence filling the room and scattering the last threads of the nightmare that clung to her like cobwebs.

He stroked the hair off her damp forehead. “Can you tell me about it?”

She lifted her slender shoulder in a halfhearted shrug. “I’d much rather it just went away.”

He cupped her shoulder, fingering the delicate bones underneath his shirt. “Maybe it will if you talk about it.”

So she did, her voice halting at first, as the words came hard. When she got to the part where she found the bodies of her twin brothers, tears streaked down her face. She described watching one of Urien’s soldiers as he murdered her mother with one efficient sword thrust, and Tiago rolled her onto her back and covered her with his body. His cheek rested against hers, and he covered her forehead with one huge palm. It was as if he was trying to hide her from the trauma of what had already happened. She rubbed his back.

“I never found out the details of what happened to my father, other than he and Urien fought, and Urien killed him,” she said. “My father had had a great deal of Power. I used to think nothing could touch him. Urien went after him personally and sent his soldiers to take care of the rest of us.”

Tiago kissed her cheek, her temple. “How did you get away?”

She laughed a little, hardly more than an exhalation of air. “I was misbehaving. I’d snuck out to meet a boy. He wasn’t acceptable, and I wasn’t supposed to be seeing him, and it was really just a typical stupid teenage prank. I spent most of the night with him trying to decide if I wanted to have sex or not. I decided not, and I slipped back into the palace, and that was when I heard something. It sounded like people running in the hall, only they sounded quiet and furtive. My brothers’ rooms were next to mine, so I went to check on them, discovered their bodies and ran to find help. Then I saw soldiers kill my mother, and I felt Power flare from Urien and my father’s battle, so I knew I had to run. I slipped out the way I had come in.”

Her apartment had a private walled courtyard with fruit trees and a marble fountain. Several of the apple trees grew within a few feet of the wall. Some weeks previously, she had stolen a rope from the stables and fashioned a rope ladder so that she could indulge in her illicit romance. Leaving had been a simple matter of climbing a tree and throwing the ladder over the wall.

Tiago pressed a kiss to the corner of her mouth as he thought. Adriyel was the seat of the Dark Fae demesne, deep in the heart of one of the largest tracts of Other land in the continental United States. He had never been to Adriyel himself, but he had heard that the journey to the palace from any one of the passageways took several days by horseback. He had to clear his throat before he could speak again. “Chicago was founded some years after you crossed over. In the early 1830s, if I remember correctly.”

She nodded, watching her fingers as she traced his strong, sturdy collarbone. “Most European settlers called the area Fort Dearborn, which was built in 1803, and the American Indians called it Chickagou.”

“Getting from Fort Dearborn to New York would have been hard enough.” My God, the more he thought of the journey she must have made, the more it made him shudder. “How did you get from Adriyel to Fort Dearborn?”

“I went to the stables and stole a graewing,” she said. “I wasn’t used to riding one though, so it was a pretty wonky flight. I managed to get it close to the crossover passage before we crashed. It was injured so I was able to get away from it.”

He swore under his breath. Graewings were a winged species that bred in Other lands. They looked like giant dragonflies. Like their miniature cousins that fed on mosquitoes, they were efficient predators, but they fed on creatures much larger than mosquitoes. They were dangerous mounts, for not only were they difficult to control, but their flight capabilities were much like helicopters. They could dart forward and backward, or rise and fall straight in the air. Accidents from riding a graewing tended to be fatal. If the fall didn’t kill the rider, most likely the graewing would. The Dark Fae had an elite force of fifty troops who were graewing riders that were traditionally led by their monarch. Urien himself had been famous as a proficient rider.

A body shouldn’t feel so many things at once, Tiago decided. He wasn’t sure if someone could explode from so many powerful emotions, but from the way he was feeling it seemed possible. He unclenched his jaw so that he could talk. “Okay,” he said. “It happened a long time ago. You survived. That’s all that matters.”

She kissed his warm bare shoulder. “I just realized something,” she said. She sounded drowsy now. “I always dream about my brothers. I never dream about my mother or my father. I mean, in the dream, I just know they’re dead. I wonder why.”

“Aside from the emotional impact of finding your brothers’ bodies, that was when you discovered how your life had changed,” Tiago said. “You had to have been going into shock by the time you saw what happened to your mother.”

“Maybe that’s it. I also always dream about hearing Urien’s footsteps as he hunts for me, when the only footsteps I really heard were soldiers running through the palace. Anyway, after I escaped, Urien built the mansion and walled the grounds around that passageway, and of course he built outposts at the other passageways too so that he could control the traffic to and from Adriyel. I know I’m prejudiced against him, but it always sounded a bit like putting up the Iron Curtain to me.” She yawned. They had stayed up all night, and she had already been exhausted, and talking about the nightmare and the memories left her feeling wrung out.

Tiago said quietly, “Walking back into the palace is going to be difficult.”

What else could she say to that but the truth? “Yes.”

He ordered, “You must tell me whenever the memories bother you. And you must swear to me you’ll never ride a graewing again. I don’t even want you within fifty feet of one. Understand?”

“That seems a bit extreme,” she muttered. “It wasn’t that bad. They’re just so fast, and while I’d seen them in flight lots of times before, I didn’t know what I was doing. Anyway, I’m s’posed to. Tradition. Need flying lessons first though.” Her eyelids drifted shut.

“I don’t care about tradition. If you ever need to have a flying mount, you will ride me,” he said. He could protect her that way, and if she ever got dislodged, he could catch her before she fell. He frowned. Maybe they could create a harness for him to wear that she could use as a saddle. With a seat belt. And she was going to have to wear a helmet. And a life jacket if they ever had to fly over water. Would a parachute be too much, just in case?

“Fine. Whatever.” She groped along his face until she could tap his mouth with an admonishing finger. “Shush now.”

“All right, faerie.” He pressed his lips to that slender pink-tipped forefinger. “You sleep.”

By the time he eased his weight off of her again, she had fallen fast asleep.

The Dark Fae mansion and its eighty-acre tract of land lay a half mile northwest of Chicago’s downtown Loop area. The grounds were bordered by a tall stone wall topped with rolls of barbed wire. The area had changed so much over the last two hundred years. Niniane didn’t recognize anything in the stylish surrounding neighborhood as their SUV approached two tall iron gates.

This time Rune drove and Aryal rode shotgun. All of Niniane’s things had been packed in suitcases and rode in the back, along with Tiago’s duffle bag. Rune and Aryal had already sent their things ahead. Rune had dressed up for the occasion: the jeans he wore didn’t have holes in the knees. Aryal wore her usual outfit of fighting leathers and weapons. Tiago rode with Niniane in the backseat. He was dressed in a clean black T-shirt and fatigues, and of course he was armed as well. His hawkish face was alert and relaxed, his dark gaze constantly moving over their immediate surroundings.

She flashed back to earlier. She had awakened with the awareness of his long, powerful body lying next to her, one of his hands resting on the narrow frame of her rib cage. Even before she had opened her eyes, she knew she faced a day filled with profound differences. She had stirred and turned to him, and discovered he was already watching her, his expression pensive and strange with rare tenderness.

He had not spoken. Instead he kissed her. Then he eased her out of his T-shirt and caressed her breasts. He had taken his time as he bent his head farther down to lick and nibble at her most sensitive areas, her throat, the inside of her elbows, tonguing her navel ring as he learned what pleased her. Then he suckled her, tugging and nipping with erotic care at her nipples as he scraped the edge of his fingernails lightly along her skin until desire for him rose to that keen sharp, sweet ache that made her feel crazed, outside of herself, but he would not enter her no matter how she begged.

“You are too sore,” he said. “I would hurt you.”

“I don’t care,” she gasped, as she twisted under his clever mouth and hands.

“I do.” He moved down her body and eased her legs apart. He settled on his stomach and stroked her swollen tender flesh, first with his fingers then with his tongue, and the sight of his wide shoulders and dark head between her legs as he worked at his intimate task jettisoned her into climax. Then he looked up the length of her bare torso with a steady intent expression and said, “Again.”

She was too tired to handle this intense feeling of ecstasy. Her hands trembled as she stroked his head. “I can’t.”

“You can,” he said. He spread the folds of her labia open and put his mouth to her clitoris.

And she did, sharp starbursts of pleasure flaring again and again, until at the last she sobbed, overwrought and wrung out, and he crawled up her body quickly to pull her limp body into his arms. She said, But I haven’t—you haven’t—

Listen to her. She could not even control her telepathy.

“I have taken exactly what I wanted,” he whispered in her ear. “I will have every part of you, until I live with you underneath your skin.”

If that was his goal, he had achieved it. She sat quietly with her seat belt on, her legs crossed at the knees, her hands folded together in her lap. After they had finally showered, around noon, she had dressed for the day in a simple black Givenchy dress, modest peep-toed pumps, and a pearl necklace and earrings. The makeup she wore was minimal, her hair blow-dried and fluffed with her fingers. The soft, expensive material of her outfit was gentle against the marks left on her skin by their lovemaking.

She gazed at the world with a patience that stemmed from utter physical exhaustion, while she was filled to the brim with a private pool of remembered eroticism. She looked at him with a deeper knowledge.

There, his short black hair gleamed in the sunlight. She knew what it felt like as it slipped through her fingers. There, his elegant mouth. She knew how wise those lips of his were as they traveled along the peaks and valleys of her body. There, the movement of his long, strong fingers. She knew just how those fingers felt as they curled around her ankles, how they felt moving inside of her, where the calluses were on his hands and the way they rasped along her skin. There, his restless, intelligent eyes. She knew the steady promise in them as he took her and took her, until there was nothing left of her to be had for he had taken it all. Yes, he lived with her now, underneath her skin.

Rune pulled the SUV up to the black iron gates. There was a guard booth next to them. A young Dark Fae woman in a plain black uniform approached the driver’s side to greet Rune. Her fascinated gaze darted once to Niniane in the backseat, but other than that she comported herself with discretion. Niniane smiled at her, and after a hesitation, the guard smiled back. After confirming their identity, the guard moved back to the booth.

Nobody spoke as the gates opened. Rune drove through and braked just on the other side. Niniane turned to watch as the gates shut behind them. She looked through the bars at the bright Chicago street. It was populated with the usual band of frenzied paparazzi and news reporters who worked to capture the event as she left official U.S. territory.

She would not see the outside of those bars again until she was Queen.

Tiago put his hand over hers in her lap. His huge palm enclosed both of hers. He squeezed her hands until she looked at him.

He was staring at her with that steady, adamant bedrock gaze. I will do this, that gaze said. I will not leave you. I will take you and make you so completely mine, you will never know your life alone again. She relaxed and gave him a slight nod, and he rubbed the back of her hand with a thumb.

Rune accelerated the SUV up a wide paved drive that was bordered by manicured shrubbery, flowers and trees. Everything within sight was rigidly controlled, trimmed and shaped to within an inch of its life, Urien’s very own Versailles. A sense of nearby land magic tingled against her senses, and she knew what she felt was the nearby crossover point to Adriyel.

I meant to ask if there was any news on the investigation, she asked Tiago.

You will not trouble yourself with that, Tiago said. You have more than enough to deal with right now. We’re handling it.

She sighed. Despite their unprecedented intimacy, Tiago had never acted as her bodyguard before this week, and they had a lot to learn about each other. Ordering me not to trouble myself isn’t helping. I need to hear details.

There was a pause. Then he said, The investigation has moved forward a few steps. Rune and I went to the morgue and inspected the bodies of the three Wyr. We had a run-in with Arethusa that turned unexpectedly positive, although we’re keeping that under wraps for now. Why don’t I give you a complete update later when we have time to relax?

She gave him a quick smile. That would be good, thank you.

The SUV went around a bend in the drive, and the Georgian-style mansion came into view. It was an imposing structure, but she had expected nothing else. It stood three stories tall, with a stone facade that was half covered in dark green ivy. The front of the mansion had a roofed portico where carriages, and now cars, could pull and people could enter and exit from the building protected from inclement weather. The rows of tall windows shone with a hard polished gleam in the afternoon sun. There might be poison, innuendo, betrayal and murder within those walls, but there would not be a wayward speck of dust.

Her heart pounded. She whispered, “Urien’s dead.”

All three of her Wyr companions reacted. Tiago gripped her hands harder. Aryal twisted around to look at her. Rune took a deep breath.

Tiago said, “Urien may be dead, but this is still his house, and we have not been allowed to go through it. Remember, you need to go carefully. Whenever possible let one of us into a room before you.”

Aryal asked, “Are you wearing your stilettos?”

Niniane nodded. The harpy was not referring to fashionable shoes, but to Niniane’s pair of small sheathed knives with the thin two-inch-long blades. She wore them now, underneath her dress and strapped to her thighs.

The mansion’s front doors opened as the SUV approached. Rune brought the vehicle to a gentle stop as people poured out of the house. The Dark Fae delegation had all transferred back to the mansion earlier that morning, along with Carling and her entourage of Vampyres who needed to get settled into shelter before daybreak. Now Aubrey, Kellen and Arethusa, and assorted guards and the household staff lined up on the steps to greet her.

It mirrored a similar scene that had occurred as she had left the hotel, where she had thanked the hotel staff and the various Chicago PD officers for their hard work on her behalf. There would be similar groups everywhere she went now. She had better get used to it.

The group at the hotel had been a special one though. She made sure to target Scott Hughes, Dr. Weylan and Cameron. As an expression of her gratitude for everything they had done for her, she invited each one to her coronation. Both Scott and Dr. Weylan thanked her profusely but said they had family and other obligations and would not be able to take time away on such short notice. Cameron, however, was a different story. After one startled moment, the woman grinned and said, “Seriously?”

Niniane leaned close to the police woman and whispered, “We both know Mr. Incredible did not know to buy me Joy perfume, or how to color-coordinate makeup and earrings with those new outfits. And who was it that arranged that absolutely smashing trip to Big Red’s?”

Tiago leaned in close from behind to whisper in her ear, “Mr. Incredible is listening to every word you say.”

She twinkled sidelong at him, and he had given her a slow smile in return. Cameron laughed, her face creased with delight. “I would love to come. I just have to arrange time off from work.”

Niniane clapped her hands. “Oh goody! But taking time off of work can be tricky. Remember, time works differently when you cross over to an Other land, and you won’t know for sure how long you’ll be gone.”

“I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” said Cameron. “I have a pension coming to me. I’ll quit if I have to.”

Niniane laughed. “We’ll cross over for Adriyel in two days, so be sure to come by then if you can make it. I’ll arrange at the gate for them to let you in.”

She smiled now as she remembered Cameron’s unaffected exuberance. The casual, easy comfort with which Niniane had interacted with the human woman stood in sharp contrast to how she felt as she looked at this current group waiting for her on the mansion steps. Many wore pleasant smiles, while others wore more neutral expressions. She noticed a tall, elegant Dark Fae woman who stood by Aubrey. The woman was almost Aubrey’s height and was dressed in conservative dark blue tunic and trousers, her black hair swept back in a simple knot. Her hand was tucked into the crook of Aubrey’s arm. She had to be Naida, his wife, who had stayed at the house to arrange the details of their journey back to Adriyel.

These were Niniane’s people, and as she looked at them, she felt nothing except a vague sense of anxiety for all the places she could see in their clothing where someone might hide a gun or a dagger.

Clearly bonding was going to take a while.